


What's A Brother For?

by DreamingAngelWolf



Series: A Deck of Stories [10]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Gen, Hurt, Implied Violence, One-Shot, whump?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingAngelWolf/pseuds/DreamingAngelWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You argue with your family all the time, right? Clint might not be an expert, but he knows that much. And yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's A Brother For?

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my Card Writing series. I pick a card, and based on it's values, I write a page.
> 
> Card picked: Queen of Hearts
> 
> Hearts = bad relationship  
> Queen = family.

Brothers weren’t supposed to fight like this, were they? They were supposed to look out for each other, play rough-and-tumble, share in-jokes and argue about girls. And considering how shitty their other family members had turned out to be, weren’t they supposed to share some deep, brotherly bond that no-one was able to break?

 _Maybe I’m confusing fiction and reality again_ , Clint thought, head bent low as he focused on breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth. Red drops of blood made circular patterns on the wood below him, giving him something to focus on as his brain threatened to shut down. Even on his hands and knees he felt dizzy, like he was too high-up someplace and needed to come down – but he ignored the temptation to curl into a ball on the floor, continued to regulate his breathing, and eventually – painfully and slowly – stood up.

Many parts of him throbbed, most notably his stomach and a spot above his left eyebrow. His knuckles ached too, and were turning a decorative purple, unlike his forehead which was smeared with deep red, a red that now trickled into the corner of his eye and made his already slightly-off vision even worse. There was a sharp pain in a toe as he wavered on his feet, and he suspected it was broken. A similar discomfort ran across his midsection, but that probably only meant a cracked rib or two. Great. Duquesne was going to love that.

Wiping the back of his hand across his eye, he turned his head a fraction to stare at his dear brother. Barney was sat at the table, head in his hands, fingers raking through his hair. The beer bottle stood dutifully nearby, the liquid inside dark through the glass and so innocent-looking. “I taste great,” it said, “I make you feel pretty good about yourself.” That was what it had told their father, and Clint couldn’t believe that, even after witnessing the lie for himself, Barney was a puppet to its falsehoods now too. 

Clint sniffed, wincing as his abdomen complained. “Duquesne’s gonna kill you,” he croaked.

Barney didn’t move. “Liar,” he slurred. “We both know it’s you he’s gonna go for first.”

He swallowed. “Would you stop him?”

His brother shrugged. “Dunno.”

“So you’d just let him –”

“Jesus Christ, Clint! It’s your own fucking fault you’re involved with the asshole! Learn to listen and stop asking me to fix all your bloody problems!” In his sudden burst of left-over rage, Barney managed to knock over the beer bottle, which promptly shattered on the floor. He stared at it for a second, then slammed his palm down on the table and launched himself from his seat. In four strides, he was out of the door and gone.

Staring down at the shards of glass, Clint tried to pretend it was a metaphor: Barney had broken the liar, had beaten the evil that was contaminating him. It didn’t do any good; he stood there, pain-numb and exhausted, struggling to remember a time when Barney willingly saved Clint from something unpleasant. He knew what memory he was trying to dredge up: one of two boys, a few years younger than him and Barney now, leaving behind an orphanage with the promise of loyalty to one another. _No. Definitely confusing fiction with reality._

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, look at that, another heart... Well at least this one's a bit more interesting. I almost did a Supernatural one, but I've been interested in Barney Barton lately (and on that note, I am trying to finish the next chapter of 'The Other Barton Boy', but inspiration is running a little dry at the moment). I think this is the most 'troubled' I've written this relationship so far... lots of feels. Poor Clint :-(


End file.
